War, Love, and Deception
by Retired 5.01.2012
Summary: Optimus thought to himself that the term "Decepticon" would have been much better suited to describe Elita One. Even then, he couldn't resist the rosy-red body in his arms, her velvety whisper as she kissed his audio receptor. Optimus Prime x Elita One.
1. Thoughts

Nowadays, it seems like you can't go onto the Transformers romance section without half of the fics being about non-con. I'm going against the bandwagon and actually giving femmes the power to decide what happens.

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia  
**Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.  
**Warnings**: Implied robot copulation. Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been cleaned up and edited for content.  
**Rating**: M to be safe.  
**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies!

**EDIT: **Forgot to say that this was originally posted June 26, 2009. Just now moving it over. .

* * *

Elita One.

The word tasted like sweet fire on his glossa as he murmured it to himself.

Her name invoked many images in the processors of those who heard it. She was not beautiful in the way that the dancers and dolls were. Elita One was in a category all of her own, a beauty forged from the intoxicating combination of her confidence and knowledge, of her power and her dangerous ways. Optimus had been ensnared by her sapphire optics, and was now completely helpless to fight the maelstrom of emotions that she evoked within his spark.

Like an organic creature from the planet Arachnia, she had spun a delicate, all-encompassing web of lies and deceit among his ranks. Pitting mech against mech in a futile attempt to gain her favor. Blackmailing the Councilors and his lesser Primes for materials and goods. Using her body and venomous charm to influence and sway the very mechs she had once blackmailed. But like dumb, hungered beasts, they followed after her in the hopes of tasting what she would give, to sate their appetites and quell their needs.

And Optimus only knew of her actions because he watched it all. He had been ensnared by her as well. He was on the fringe of her web, but he knew that he was next on her list. Her soft velvety words, whispered as the siren pouted up at him for his attention. Optimus knew he would give in eventually. She knew it, too. His spark shuddered. She was everything that his courtesans were not. Elita was as exquisite as the rare crystals that formed deep under the surface of Cybertron. She had endless wit and charm at her disposal, and she did not hesitate to employ her sweet, empty words on the mechs she extorted. She was as cold as the ice-moon that orbited their planet, rumored to be as spark-less as the Unmaker himself.

Optimus was enthralled by the Femme Commander and her conflicting personality. Elita One was a nominal Autobot, for she was loyal only to herself and her femmes. She would do whatever it took to ensure that she and her femmes outlived the males, even if it meant selling her abilities to bring life into the world.

Femmes were much smaller and weaker than their mech counterparts, and lacked the power and resources to build their own bases. A weak alliance had been forged between the leaders and the dominant femmes. In return for their services as medics, theoreticians, scientists, and sparkling-bearers, Optimus Prime and the Autobots would provide them with protection, shelter, energon, and medical equipment. It was a very unstable truce, for the Decepticon femmes were offered the same by Megatron. If one leader offered an extra thousand energon units for ten fliers, then the femmes would join him. The other would have to raise his bid. It was a vicious cycle that the femmes had ensnared the mechs in. Elita One often commented on the irony of the situation.

"_Imagine that! The weaker and smaller of the species, twisting and coercing the most dominant! How amusing," _she would say, laughing as she stroked the arm of the mech seated beside her, the one who had gained her favor this orn. They would all laugh along with her, but with cold, humorless optics. They knew the power she held over them.

The mech Commanders were not stupid. They both understood that they needed the femmes to continue the species, to provide more soldiers for them to command. Especially fliers. With what the femmes lacked in power and size, they more than made up for in their sheer ability to control their bodies. Forced or an attempt to force interface on a femme yielded very unpleasant results. Permanent damage to the cortex from powerful viruses was the least damage that the 'Cons and 'Bots had encountered. Blackarachnia had a love for draining amorous mechs with her bare fangs, and Elita One was quite fond of ripping spark chambers out. Their femmes followed the same paths. The mech Commanders had to tread very carefully with the femmes if they were to secure fliers and mechs from the femmes.

They could have gone to the AllSpark for replacements, but the AllSpark always created mechs. Mechs could not produce anything but other mechs. Their sparklings were usually weaker than ones produced by femmes. They rarely lived a vorn or two after their adult upgrades. Femmes could mate with mechs, other femmes, and even fliers. A femme-to-femme mating produced all three genders, which was something that both factions valued more than energon itself. Femmes were very precious to both Optimus and Megatron, and severe punishment was swiftly carried out if a femme was harmed. Blackarachnia was very fond of draining errant males with her fangs.

Blinking away the thoughts, Optimus continued gazing at the femme.

Elita One was the mirror of her femme-equal among the Decepticon ranks, as cunning and treacherous and wily. Rumors flew of how the femmes negotiated peace treaties when they squabbled with one another, and for the most part, they were entirely true. Both Femme Commanders understood the importance of their gender, and had pledged to do all that they could to keep one another alive through the war. After all, what would a femme want with a mech if she and her sisters were capable of continuing the species by themselves?

They had an ulterior motive. That was the only thing Optimus was certain of regarding the females.

Ice blue optics narrowed when the dusky-red femme made an appearance only a few dozen yards away. Optimus continued musing on the Femme Commanders. His spark shuddered both in pleasure and dismay as he realized just how similar Elita One and Blackarachnia were.

They ruled their femmes with complete authority, but unlike Megatron, who was often at odds with his Second in Command, Elita One and Blackarachnia had no need to swear punishment or to deal out beatings. The femmes in both factions followed their leader without hesitation or doubt. They were eager to please and serve.

Perhaps they were a little too eager.

Optimus and Megatron still hadn't figured out how Elita and Blackarachnia inspired such fierce loyalty from their femmes, though they had heard hushed tales of how the femmes rewarded loyalty and success. Of how femmes were given the pleasure to lay with their Commanders for the night. He had even heard rumors of how the Femme Commanders negotiated treaties with one another. They were wild, sordid tales of repeated interface to see which femme was dominant enough to start negotiating treaties.

His optic shutters closed slowly, and he thought for a moment. The mere thought of Elita One wrapped in a passionate embrace with Blackarachnia aroused him until his spark ached. Almost as though she sensed his intent, Elita looked up at him. She let a slow, knowing smirk spread on her faceplates. She glanced over at her platoon. They were too busy to notice their silent interaction. Elita motioned to the hallway, and Optimus acknowledged her with a slight nod.

Maybe it was time to finally give in.


	2. Actions

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

**Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

**Warnings**: Heavily implied spark play, graphic descriptions of kissing, and mild swearing. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con.

**Rating**: M for the above warnings.

**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movie! Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account (on June 28, 2009). This version has been cleaned up and edited for content.

* * *

As they exited the crowded rec. room, Elita One let her optics rove over Optimus Prime and his gorgeous body. Elita One only used the mechs for their supplies and for what they could offer her. Elita One preferred the touch and the embrace of a fellow femme for physical and mental comfort. She had never needed a mech in her life. In fact, she scoffed at the idea of a male being able to provide what she needed and wanted. Most mechs had too much armor and too little protoform to carry it. But now, as she walked behind Optimus, she could admit that he was a _very_ fine specimen of a male.

He was incredibly handsome underneath that mysterious battle mask of his. His features were regal - intense blue optics, curved optic ridges, sleek plating, and a strong chin. She fell back a step in order to continue admiring his long and powerful body. He was very tall and well-built. His shoulders were very wide, but they were not overly so. His chest plating was broad, but it curved elegantly, denoting his status as a member of the upper class. She could only imagine what it would feel like to be pressed up against _that _frame. Her gaze dropped lower. His legs were endlessly long, delectable support pillars to his impressive upper body. Whoever had built his body had known they were creating the frame of a king.

Breaking from her spell, Elita trotted after him obediently, her optics narrowing as he led her through the base. She had never been in this area before, and it made her slightly anxious to not know what he had planned. She subtly activated a self-defense program. He may have been a Prime, but a Prime was not necessarily good to his people. After a few breems of winding through the expansive hallways and corridors, Elita was beginning to lose her patience. Just as she was about to snap something up at him, he stopped, and she nearly collided with his overly large backside.

He opened a door, politely waiting for her to enter. She stepped in, ignoring the hand that he had offered to help her down the stairs. Elita glanced around. The room was massive, but very well lighted. A large desk stood in the middle of the room. Two large, ornate seats had been placed before the desk. Optimus made his way to the other side of the desk. He sank into his plush seat.

"Please sit down," he said, elegantly motioning to the seat before his desk. The low timbre of his voice made Elita's spark shudder.

"Of course, my lord," she said, her silky-smooth voice slightly sarcastic. Optimus didn't bother responding to her jab. He was used to her sarcasm by now. Elita smirked to herself, and bypassed the chair. She daintily sank onto the edge of his desk. He raised an optic ridge at her cheeky smile.

"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"Elita purred suggestively. She had been trying to bed him for a very long time now. If she could conceive a spark by him, she would be very well off. After all, only a Prime could produce other Primes, and her every need would be catered to. Optimus was the Supreme Commander, but that did not mean that he was the _only_ Prime on Cybertron. There were a dozen others, each one with equal opportunity to become the next Supreme Commander.

Not _every_ mech or femme spawned by a Prime immediately became one. If that was the case, they'd have thousands vying for leadership. There were currently eight potentials that had displayed signs of becoming a Prime, and even then, it was highly unlikely that a Prime would be produced from that particular group. Elita smirked to herself. She would give her title as Femme Commander to see one of her daughters ruling alongside the mechs.

However, Optimus had no desire to see another war erupt over who would inherit his legacy, so he rarely mated, and when he did, he took great care to avoid fathering a sparkling.

"I wish to open negotiations with you," Optimus said carefully, folding his hands across the top of the desk. He did his best to ignore the way that the femme crossed her legs, hiding the port that he so desperately craved.

"Negotiations? Please, _do_ continue," she said, running her hand down his chest plates. Elita smirked when his optics flared white at her touch. She could feel his engine beginning to thrum underneath her fingertips.

"Very well. I will offer one thousand energy units for one flier," he said, reclining in his seat. To the untrained optic, it seemed that he was relaxing, but Elita knew that he was trying to avoid her touch.

"Only a thousand, Prime? Megatron is offering two thousand per flier," Elita said lightly, as though discussing the weather. She glanced down at her hands disinterestedly, and added as an afterthought, "and he is also offering to let us have two hundred units per mech that is produced in our attempts. He's even making a gift of a failed 'Con to sweeten our…" She paused dramatically, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. "…temporary alliance."

Optimus raised an optic ridge at her statement. Two thousand was a hefty price. Megatron must have been running low on fliers. He didn't pause to think on Megatron offering 'failures' to the femmes. The last battle had been almost a vorn ago, and the females were getting antsy.

"Very well. I raise my offer to one thousand five hundred," he said, mimicking her pause. Elita looked up, unable to ignore him for more than a few astroseconds. Prime rarely negotiated on such short terms, so she was quite interested in what he had to offer.

"For a sparkling-flier from _you_," he said, letting his optics rove over her chest. She didn't miss the slight husky tone that his voice took on.

Elita raised one optic ridge. When she saw that he was being completely serious, she gave a short bark of laughter. She was incredulous. She had borne eight sparklings for the Autobots and six for the Decepticons, and each one had fetched nearly triple the amount that normal femmes were offered. She was the Femme Commander. Her strengths were passed on to her sparklings, and that was why she bore such a hefty price. The only flier she ever produced had fetched nearly twelve thousand energy units.

"Prime, you're going to have to offer much more than that if you want a sparkling," she said, her sarcastic, biting laughter marring her sentence. He waited patiently until she was silent once more. His intense gaze unnerved her.

"I wasn't finished," he said coolly. Elita nodded, leaning back on one hand. Her gaze was cold and calculating. She debated on raising the price to thirteen thousand energy units for him wasting her time. Even if he had offered her the key to Iacon, she would have refused.

"And I offer to sire it myself," he said finally, his optics darkening to indigo as he spoke. Her optics widened of their own accord. She composed herself quickly.

"Sire it yourself," she murmured quietly and thoughtfully, running a fingertip down the center of his chest plates. If she bore his spark, she would be able to negotiate quite a bit more from him. She and her femmes would be very well taken care of for a long time. Perhaps they would even have enough energy to abandon the planet and the war. Her kind had no reason to stay behind. The AllSpark had given them the gift of being able to bear life. They had no need to fight for its control.

"Five hundred units per mech that we create," he continued, grasping her hand in his, pulling her toward him, "and if one becomes Prime, then you will receive a gift of fifty thousand units. Is this sufficient, my lady?" His tone had become as mocking as hers. His glittering azure optics locked with hers as he awaited her answer.

"Very well," she said, pretending to sound a little annoyed and disinterested, "under what conditions?"

His optics glinted harshly.

"You will remain in my quarters until I confirm that you have become pregnant," Optimus said bluntly, dropping her hand and interlacing his fingers together, "then, you will remain on my base until my Chief Medical Officer delivers the sparkling. After that, you are free to leave."

Elita nodded, a slow smirk crossing her face plates. So he knew what she had done. One of Prime's men had negotiated with one of you her younger femmes, and he had treated her with great inconsideration during the mating. The clever young femme then took her regulation files off-line, rendering her temporarily sterile, and the mech never noticed. Then the femme relayed the poor treatment to Elita.

In a fit of rage, Elita had summoned Blackarachnia, and together, they had smuggled the femme into Decepticon territory. Blackarachnia had managed to convince Megatron to bed the femme, and less than one joor later, the femme had been confirmed to be carrying a little orb. Megatron was unwilling to let her go, but Blackarachnia had offered herself to him in exchange.

Less than one stellar cycle later, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were brought into the world, and the mech had unknowingly raised two Decepticon sparklings as his own. It was bittersweet revenge for the femme, for only she and the other femmes knew the father of the little ones. She supposed she could insult him a little more by suggesting a careful spark frequency measurement. A small smirk crossed her face plates. Yes, that would do perfectly.

"You drive a very hard bargain, Prime," Elita purred, sliding from her perch slowly, "but I _suppose_ I could accept your terms. When will we create the sparkling?"

Optimus raised one optic ridge at the blatant suggestive tone she had.

"Whenever you would like," he countered. There was a brief pause as she circled around behind his seat. She ignored his tension and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. Then she began to rub his armor slowly, her fingers occasionally dipping beneath to play with his muscle cables.

"The sooner the better," Elita breathed into his audio receptor. She kissed her way up to one of his antenna, licking it from base to tip. She smirked slightly when she felt his entire chest rumble.

"You are correct," he , slowly relaxing into her touch. She made a noise of agreement as she nuzzled a path down to his neck. He let out a low purr at her expert touch. Tendrils of fire snaked down to his spark.

"I always am," she shot back, tightening her grip slightly. The pointed ends of her fingers dug into a fuel line.

"Perhaps," Optimus murmured, taking one of her hands in his. As Elita leaned forward, he kissed the palm of her hand. Elita sighed softly. Her unoccupied hand stroked his chest at random, her fingers sliding over the glass in his windshield and tickling his wipers. He tugged on her hand, pulling her around to stand before him. He wrapped his hands around her waist, effortlessly lifting her into his lap. Her hands dug into his forearms nervously. She was used to being dominant during every interface session, and being entirely at his mercy was slightly unnerving. She may have been a strong warrior, but he was the Prime. Only Ironhide and Ultra Magnus could brawl with him and live to tell the tale.

Optimus reclined slightly, his hands loosening around her waist. Then his talented fingers dipped into the spaces of his armor, and her anxiety began to slip away. Now that she was certain that this experience would not involve her having to teach him what to do with a female, she was beginning to enjoy herself.

"Shall we retire to my quarters, my dear lady?"

"Y-yes," Elita whispered unsteadily, her optics shut tightly at the sensual assault on her frame. She could have slapped herself. She had dreamed to hear those words for orns, and now that she had him where she wanted, all she could do was nod and stammer like an innocent. Optimus grunted his response, and Elita nearly shrieked when he lifted her into his arms. One large arm supported her legs effortlessly, while the other arm cradled her to his chest. She clung to him for fear of being dropped.

"Put me down," she snapped, "I can walk on my own, Prime!"

Optimus gave her a smoldering glare that made her spark shudder in its casing. She fell silent, but the frown remained plastered on her face. Once she was silent, he continued to walk toward what she presumed to be his quarters. He turned down a hallway.

Elita dropped her head against his shoulder in embarrassment when she saw the guards posted on either side of his door. There were no less than twenty mechs lining the hallway.

"Optimus Prime," Ironhide greeted, bowing his head as he stood at attention. Optimus nodded in response, shifting Elita slightly in his arms to hide her face from the others.

"Ironhide," Optimus responded, nodding in the mech's direction. Elita's internal pressure skyrocketed in rage when she saw the massive black mech smirk up at his Commander.

"Sir? Do you require assistance?" he prompted questioningly, glancing pointedly over at the limp Femme Commander.

"Elita One requires rest. I could not let a femme of her stature rest in substandard quarters," Optimus offered, his voice innocent. Only Elita and Ironhide caught the subtle jab at her title. Ironhide's smirk grew wider.

"Very well, sir. Shall I call for Ratchet to attend to her…energy needs?" Ironhide asked suggestively.

"I am more than capable of tending to Lady Elita's needs on my own, Ironhide," Optimus responded. A third mech snickered quietly. He was silenced when Elita cracked her optics opened and glared at him.

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise, sir," Ironhide said, "drone number 453 should be within with your energon."

"Thank you, Ironhide," Optimus responded, watching as his bodyguard opened the door for him.

"Don't wear her out too much, boss," Ironhide muttered quietly, his optics locked on the wall before him in a perfect picture of standing at attention. Elita nearly shrieked at him, but the door shut before she could respond. Optimus smirked down at her.

"What was the meaning of that?" Elita snapped hotly, writhing in his grip. She smacked his chest in hopes of being set down.

"Ironhide knows exactly what we are going to do tonight, Elita. If it is any consolation, no one heard him but us," Optimus said bluntly, "now, shall we retire to my berth immediately, or would you like a tour of my quarters?" Elita fell silent at his straightforwardness. She had expected him to be nothing but polite to her. This new primal side to him made her circuits thrum in a most peculiar way, however.

"I would like to see your quarters," she said haughtily, "now, will you put me down?"

"As you wish," Optimus murmured quietly. Once Elita was on her feet, Optimus sent out a command to his personal drone. It detached from a panel in the wall and zoomed over to his feet. It beeped.

"Fetch two flutes of high grade," Optimus commanded. The drone beeped, and returned to its niche in the wall. Elita raised one optic ridge when the drone promptly returned, bearing a tray upon its flat head.

"Are you attempting to inebriate me, Optimus? Perhaps the tales of your prowess were not as true as they seemed," Elita said coyly, accepting the flute from the drone. She sipped it, watching as Optimus did the same. He snorted quietly.

"If you do not want it, then you need not drink it," he responded sarcastically, "and I do not know what it is you speak of when you mention my 'prowess'. I have not bedded your females." Elita rolled her optics to the ceiling as she continued sipping the light blue fluid slowly. It was an exquisite batch. The sweetness and bubbles of the drink easily balanced out the exquisite, tingling burn.

"This is the anteroom," Optimus said, motioning to the expansive room. Elita raised one optic ridge at the sheer size of the room. He pushed open a pair of intricately decorated doors.

"This is my main living area," Optimus said, completely oblivious to Elita's awe. The room was easily four or five times the size of her quarters. A massive window took up the entire wall, letting in the view of the beautiful Iacon night sky. The first of the three moons was just beginning to reach its zenith above the Pavilion on the West side of the city. She was so enthralled by the night sky that she nearly tripped down the miniature flight of stairs that led into the room.

Two couches large enough to seat a dozen mechs each flanked the windows. Various works of art dotted the room, and upon closer inspection, Elita verified that it had been Sunstreaker that had made them. Optimus waited until she had finished looking before motioning at a large door to their left.

"That door leads into my personal office," he said. Elita nodded, and began to make her way to the window. Her gaze was locked on the sky. She reached one hand out and pressed it to the window. It hummed at her touch. Mild electrical currents ran through the massive pane of glass, rendering it nearly indestructible in order to prevent break-ins or accidental falls.

The night sky was black velvet, splashed with blue and green gas ribbons. Stars glittered far above, rendering her speechless. The rings of Iossa and her twelve moons were clearly visible at this altitude.

"It's beautiful," Elita said quietly, awed and humbled. Optimus smiled to himself.

"Tomorrow, I will wake you early and we will watch the suns rise," Optimus said, then amended his statement quickly, "but only if you would like."

Elita nodded eagerly.

"I would enjoy it," she said, unable to tear her optics away from the pulsing gas nebulas. After a moment, she glanced away. On the surface of the planet, the night sky was rarely visible past the thick smog clouds.

"Shall we continue?" Optimus asked. Elita nodded. Her cocky demeanor returned, and she took a sip of her drink.

"Lead on, my Prime," she said, holding her flute out in a mock toast.

"Very well. The open archway past my office leads to my personal library, and one of my storage rooms is past that one," Optimus said, quickly pointing out each door, "and on the other side, those doors lead to my bedroom."

Elita nodded, quietly putting her drink down on the end table. She took no notice of the small drone that immediately whisked it away. Optimus continued talking, completely oblivious to the femme sneaking up behind him. At the lengthy silence from his companion, he turned around and found himself chest-to-chest with the femme. Elita placed her hands on his chest, sliding them down slowly. Optimus dropped his drink when she slipped her fingers underneath his chest plates.

He didn't give her a chance to react. He merely wrapped one powerful arm around her waist, bringing her face level with his. She snaked her arms around his neck and hooked her legs around his waist awkwardly. Optimus meshed his lips with hers. His tender kiss was the last thing that Elita expected. He was tender, carefully stroking her back and sides, but she could feel the hunger he was trying to stave off. Elita parted her lips, teasing the seam of his lips with her glossa. Prime was a conquest she was going to enjoy.

This was a new experience for her. Interface was usually rushed for her when it involved a mech or flier. She was very distrustful of anyone who wasn't a femme, but this...this felt so different. She was safe with him, safe in his arms... Optimus broke her from her thoughts by responding to her kiss, parting his lips. For a moment they kissed, savoring one another. She broke away, straining to gather her thoughts, even as he sucked her lower lip between his. How was he able to affect her with just a kiss? Already, she was so hot that her spark ached for his. Conception was normally a boring chore for her, but...but Prime was making her spark do things it had not done in eons.

"Now," she whispered hoarsely. Optimus began to walk to his bedroom. Elita busied herself with pulling off the removable bits of his armor. He gave a low laugh, nuzzling her neck gently. He nipped her fuel line gently, smirking at her soft mewl. Who knew that the ice queen could be capable of so much passion? He saved several recordings of her writhing in his arms, too enthralled with her beautiful display to resist.

"Patience, my Lady," he whispered roughly, typing in the code to his bedroom. Elita ignored him. His bumper fell to the ground. Optimus stepped in and headed directly for the massive berth in the middle of his room. He gently pried Elita from his chest, spreading her across the surface. He eased his hips between her legs, undoing one of the latches that held her front fender on.

"Optimus," she groaned harshly, arching into his hands every time he touched her.

"What would you request of me, Elita?" Optimus asked. Elita groaned, throwing her head back on the many cushions dotting the berth. His fingers trailed over her frame as he easily divested her of her protective armor. Normally, she initiated mating with her armor on, but his touch was too intoxicating, too knowledgeable for her to tell him to stop. Once her protoform was completely bare, Optimus lowered himself to cover her chest with his. He captured her lips with his once more, shuttering his optics.

Outside, the war continued raging.

* * *

_The juicy bits were edited out in order to comply with FFN rules._


	3. Intrigue

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

**  
Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

**  
Pairings:** Mainly Optimus Prime x Elita One, mentions of Megatron x Blackarachnia

**  
Warnings**: Implied robot copulation. Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been cleaned up and edited for content.

**Rating**: M to be safe.

**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

**Various Author's Notes: **Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies! This fandom needs more Optimus Prime and Elita One.

Posted July 14th, 2009 on my DeviantArt account.

* * *

Elita lounged in the comfortable chair, her gaze contemplative and anxious as she focused on nothing in particular. Her spark was in utter turmoil. What kind of Femme Commander abandoned her subordinates without warning in the middle of a war? The Autobot base was quite possibly the safest place on Cybertron, but her spark didn't see it as that. The other portion of her army - the ones whose services were not being utilized by either army - was safe and sound in the Femme bases. Yet, that knowledge did nothing to soothe the cries of "_traitor" _and "_unfit for even waste unit duty"_ rising up from her rebellious processor.

She had good reason to do what she had done. Her duty to her subordinates came first. Prime had offered money, energon, and supplies in exchange for a flier from her. It was business, and nothing more.

_Liar,_ her processor whispered, _traitorous hypocrite!_

Elita shook away the thought, pressing her face into her hands. Was it so wrong to enjoy the physical intimacy? She clenched her fists in frustration. She was giving her body to the Prime for her _femmes. _The only ones who mattered in their damned war. She'd given her services as a sparkling-bearer before, but she had never felt so much guilt attached to the action of interface. She had enjoyed her previous matings to the fullest extent. Sometimes, she even indulged in an extra solar cycle or two if the mech was stellar. However, when it was over, she had been capable of walking away and not looking back once.

But Prime...

The rules of her little game of deceit had changed. For better? For worse? She did not know.

And it made her uneasy.

She did not regret her time with Optimus. He had shown her that interface could be so much more than just linking systems and merging sparks. He had shown her the unbridled passion that should have accompanied interface. In a sense, she had been blind before his touch; blind to the tenderness and intimacy of merging. The first time he had kissed her had been like seeing the star-filled Cybertronian sky for the first time. Elita rolled onto her side on the couch, staring at the book-case opposite her perch. She still had her reservations regarding him as a male. However, the reservations regarding him as a potential partner (that her processor so stubbornly clung to) were rapidly dying away.

She had thought of him to be as false as his Lesser Primes. In the time that she had spent with him, she had learned how heavy his burden as Supreme Commander _and _their High Prime was. He had to protect their planet and uphold his duties as their physical link to Primus. Optimus Prime was truly alone in the universe, for he could not afford to let any of his people penetrate the icy wall he had built around his spark. The only mech who understood a fraction of Prime's duties was Ironhide, his bodyguard and mentor. Prime may not have allowed anyone into his spark, but he did not need to do that to comfort anyone who needed it. Optimus did not even need to speak. His mere presence on the battlefield was enough to turn the tides.

_Primes did not fall._

She had felt the pain in his spark for a brief astrosecond. It had numbed her to her core. He had tried to hide it from her, but Elita could see past his walls. The agony he felt to watch his brothers-in-arms fight to defend their home. It killed him to watch them fall for an ideal that seemed impossible to achieve. So he fought for them. He bore the pain and agony that his mechs were subjected to on the battlefield without hesitation. He offered his comfort and guidance to anyone who asked. He offered everything he had to offer in exchange for nothing at all. Optimus truly _loved _his people, with all of his mighty spark.

She had been so wrong in her judgment.

He wasn't the ageless, reincarnated god that the Twelve Tenets had described. He was not perfect, all-knowing, or immortal. When they had first merged, Elita had learned that Optimus was a mere twenty thousand vorns old. Being that young, he had no wisdom to speak of, save for what the Matrix whispered to him in his moments of crisis. He was as self-conscious as the rest of them. He doubted his every decision unless he deliberated for cycles at a time. He was as full of faults as the general populace.

And in spite of that, his mechs hung on to his every word. Worshiped the very ground he walked on. Defended him and fought for him, trusting his every judgment to be as sound as the ground beneath their feet. They lived for him, fought for him, died for him, all without regrets or hesitation. Their final cries as they deactivated still haunted his processor during the night cycle.

Elita rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. The positives vastly outweighed the negatives in her processor.

Optimus Prime was magnetic. He was their anchor, the guardian and keeper of the Cybertronian race. He was unyielding to outside forces that threatened their way of life. Alien beings had threatened their home before. Any species stupid enough to challenge Prime did not live to tell the tale. He was powerful, capable of defending his people to his dying moment. She knew he would sacrifice himself for his people.

He also had the kindest, most selfless spark she had ever seen. Optimus knew it was wrong to build personal relationships with the very mechs he sent out into battle, but he did it nonetheless. He let each mech know how much he appreciated and loved them, but it was never romantic. Optimus knew he was the only thing that some of his mechs had to keep them anchored to life, so he gave his comforting guidance willingly and freely to anyone who asked. He was their brother, their guide, their leader. And he never asked for anything more than their best in return.

Optimus would have gladly and happily given his life to ensure the safety of his people.

Elita rolled onto her side, wincing slightly at the sharp pulling sensation deep within her midsection. Prime must have broken a record somewhere. He had sparked her in less than a joor of playful interface. He hadn't even been trying at that point. They had simply been enjoying themselves when she felt the familiar flash of something within her spark chamber. The spark had taken quickly and was growing rapidly, feeding information to her carrying tank where it would eventually settle to grow. She absently sipped her second cube of energon that day.

In the few days that she had been mating with Prime, she had become very used to waking up in his arms. Her processor shrieked indignantly at the mere thought of becoming attached to the Prime. He was only a source of energon and supplies for her femmes, her newest toy. Elita sighed, staring down at her flat abdomen as she tried to convince herself of that. No matter what she did or said, she could not believe it.

She was in utter turmoil. Her spark had never reacted so strongly to anyone, not even Chromia. Elita sighed and bowed her head, watching as she played with the fringe on a cushion. At first, she had believed that she had become ensnared by that strong, unwavering voice and spark, just like his men. However, as the solar cycles went by, she found that his optics changed whenever he looked at her. He held _something_ in that gaze, something that he reserved only for her. It wasn't exactly lust, nor was it attachment. It was...desire. Raw, unadulterated desire. She shivered slightly - he was passionate in whatever he did, including their intimacy.

Elita kicked the cushion to the floor and rested her head on her arm. The data screens and holocubes were repetitive, to say the least, and she had grown weary of them joors ago.

Optimus had left to take care of some sort of business only a cycle ago, and she was already terribly lonely. Someone of his intelligence level was a rare but pleasant surprise. A small smile twitched across her face plates as she stood up. If she couldn't talk to Prime, there were other mechs she could socialize with. She cracked open the main doors and peered through the tiny gap. Ironhide was, as usual, standing at firm attention.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked quietly, not drawing attention to them.

"Ironhide, would you tell me the time and date, please?" Elita asked, sliding the door open a little wider.

"It is currently the eighth joor and three cycles, with fifteen breems until the fourth cycle. Our date is the fifth stellar rotation of the ninth orn," Ironhide said, and pausing for a moment, smirked at her, "do you have a prior engagement that needs to be attended?" Elita scowled up at him.

"I was only curious," she said grumpily.

"Fear not, Lady Elita. Prime will return to resume entertaining you in only a few cycles," Ironhide said, sneaking a glance down at her from the corner of his optic. She glowered at him.

"Ya need to lighten up," Ironhide added, "we are all sworn to secrecy here."

Elita only gave him a frigid glare as she backed into the apartment. So maybe socializing with Prime's companions wasn't the best of choices. She sighed as she picked her way through the library. It was dreadfully boring without someone there to talk to. Not that they did much talking; most of their time together was spent praising Primus's name. Elita ran her finger across the glass panels that guarded the holocubes. There was nothing within that she was interested in. All war tactics and politics. Elita wandered back out into the main living area. The door opened, and she looked up, eager to see the familiar blue mass also known as Optimus.

She frowned when she saw Ratchet. The mech bowed his head to her politely. She grumbled to herself. She had not forgotten his last transgression, even if he hadn't meant to insult her.

"I am here to examine you, Elita," Ratchet said briskly, professionally. Elita nodded. If he was being professional, she could behave as well. He began to talk as he set up equipment.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sipping her energon. The drone by her feet beeped, and Elita couldn't help but to pat it on the head as it zoomed away. Ratchet watched, a small smile quirking up one side of his lip components.

"There is no doubt in my processor that you are with sparkling," Ratchet said briskly, his business-like tone returning, "but Prime wants to know what he fathered." Elita arched one optic ridge.

"Is he incapable of asking me?" she asked, stretching her arms out at Ratchet's gentle prod. He hummed as he booted up his scanner. A narrow, shimmering band of emerald light came into focus a moment later.

"That, I do not know, Elita. Perhaps he is nervous. After all, you are carrying his first sparkling," Ratchet said, putting one gentle hand on her abdomen as he knelt before her. He manipulated the fields her body had set up.

"Ah. There we go. You are with sparkling, Elita," Ratchet said, his voice proud and slightly gruff, "no doubt that Prime will be ecstatic to know. As for the exact gender, I cannot tell you, though, the readings do seem to suggest a mech. Perhaps a femme, if the radiation levels drop."

"His first sparkling?" she asked, sounding incredulous. She had been the focus of his amorous advances for the past few stellar cycles. How could he have kept his protocols from engaging? Ratchet gave a clipped nod as he put away his scanner.

"You must be joking."

Ratchet gave a short bark of laughter.

"I maintain his firewalls, Elita, and I can guarantee you that he has not fathered any sparklings by anyone but you," Ratchet said, shaking his head. Elita felt strangely relieved at his statement. No other sparkling would be competing with hers for Prime's protection and care. When Ratchet arched an optic ridge up at her, she nodded quickly.

"I just thought it was strange," she said, shrugging. Ratchet sat back and gave her a calculating look.

"Optimus is our Prime, and he has numerous duties. Ensuring the survival of our species is one of them, but he does not seem to want to think that creating life is one. He has confided in me that he does not want to bring a life into the world if he cannot care for it like a proper sire," Ratchet said, untangling a length of wire as he spoke. "He is a good mech, Elita, and he knows his role as a sire. He wants to uphold his duties to his sparkling, but...we are in the middle of a war." He unwound a second spool of wire. "Though, I don't think I have ever seen him so nervous around a femme before." He looked thoughtful, his gaze settling on nothing in particular. Then he tapped gently on one of the ports on her abdomen.

"Open up," Ratchet said. Elita gave him a suspicious look, her hands dropping to cover the spark she carried protectively.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. Ratchet shook his head.

"I will not harm you or the child, Elita, that I swear to you upon my honor as a medic. I will be uploading into your systems to ensure that your files are properly formatted," Ratchet said gently, or as gently as she had heard him speak. Elita nodded, and Ratchet uploaded into her systems. She could feel him sifting through her reproductive files, making minor tweaks in various places. It only took him a breem or two to finish his work. He stood back up as he disconnected the wires.

"The spark will most likely be a mech, Elita. I changed your firewalls to make information exchange between you and the spark easier," Ratchet said, re-coiling the wires he had in his hand. The femme only nodded, looking pensive about something. Ratchet noted her silence, his sharp optics glued to her face plates.

"Elita?" he asked softly. The femme responded, shaking her head slightly.

"Yes?" she asked. She was uncharacteristically quiet.

"What bothers you?" he asked. Elita balked slightly. She had become soft around Optimus, if her emotions were so readable. Her face hardened slightly and an indifferent mask settled over her features.

"Nothing," she said crisply. Ratchet, clearly not believing her, merely nodded. He knew better than to press the matter.

"Very well. Prime will be back within the cycle," Ratchet said, turning around and beginning to walk away. He made it halfway across the room when she spoke again.

"Ratchet?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, Elita?" he responded, turning around to face her. She looked impassive, but he could see the tempest of emotions in her optics.

"Thank you," she said. He nodded.

"You're welcome," he said, and with that, he left.

* * *

Optimus returned within the cycle, just as Ratchet had said. Elita felt strangely anxious. How would he take the news? Would he be upset with her for waiting for so long to let him know that she'd been sparked? He gave her a polite nod, accepting the cube of energon that the drone had brought to him. Elita took a moment to steady her shaking hands. There really was no reason for her to act like a silly subadult femme, she reminded herself. They were only conducting business. Nothing more, and nothing less.

"Optimus? Ratchet confirmed that I am with spark," Elita said, placing her hand on her abdomen. Optimus blinked over the rim of the energon cube. He set the cube down on the table. His response was a little late.

"Really? That is fantastic news, Elita," Optimus said smoothly, his exterior hiding his internal battle. If she was with spark, they wouldn't be able to enjoy their passionate nights together. They wouldn't be able to spend time together. And then, as he gazed over at the femme, he realized with a jolt that she knew the same that he did. They could not afford to let their work become more than just 'work'. If they became attached, they would both become vulnerable, and they would both fail in their duties as Commanders. Femmes and mechs did not mix. They never had, and they never would. She only needed him for supplies, and he only needed her for a sparkling.

His silly infatuation had to end immediately.

"I will be leaving in the morning," she said. He could have sworn that she sounded unsure. Optimus nodded, steeling himself as he carefully schooled his features into disinterest. It was for the best if they both squashed whatever 'it' was that had sprung up between them. They were two Commanders. Not companions, not lovers, and most certainly not co-creators. Elita hardened her gaze.

She seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"Good," she said, turning away. He hesitated before following her to the berth that they had been sharing for the better part of an orn. She was already lying down and nearly in recharge. Optimus carefully spread himself out on the surface, shuttering his optics and slowing his systems in a vain attempt to mimic recharge.

In the end, neither one was able to recharge for a long time.

* * *

The next morning, Optimus awoke to an empty berth. Elita hadn't even left him a note. He shook away the slight sting of her abrupt departure, reminding himself that he had lain with her only to sire a sparkling and for the pleasures of her body. Optimus made his way to his office. He felt particularly grumpy this morning. Mechs who were well accustomed to his moods stayed well out of range, and he couldn't be more grateful for it. Optimus slumped into his seat, watching as the first of Cybertron's suns rose over the horizon through the narrow window.

He and Elita had watched the suns rise once. He still remembered the surprised look in her optics when he drew her up underneath his arm. The frigid air around them was particularly violent that morning, and he had drawn her close to him instinctively. She had pressed closer to him, leaning her head against him. He had been afraid to speak. It would have ruined the moment. She would have become the cold femme that he knew once more.

He was wrong.

There was something about Elita One. He didn't want to tame her or break her. He had known the femme's capacity for passion, and he wanted more. His spark reacted so peculiarly when he was with her. It felt like he was..._complete_, in a strange way. He had never thought of his spark to be incomplete. Before their negotiations had begun, he had only interacted with her at a superficial level. They had made small talk during their brief periods of alone time between meetings. He knew her designation, her high grade preference, and her duties as Femme Commander. Nothing else.

But after they had begun to talk, it seemed like he already knew her. Nothing she said or did surprised him. It was as though he had known her for their entire life cycles.

He looked down. In his hands, he clutched a datapad. His work was the only thing he had standing between him and his memories of Elita. Optimus knew that if he stopped working, he would chase her down and find her. He would do something stupid. Something that he would regret in the vorns to come. Optimus diligently began to read the text, trying to block out the memories of her beautiful face, her strong shoulders as he wrapped his arm around her. The look of pure joy on her face as they shared the sunrise.

After re-reading the same text at least six times, Optimus tossed it aside. Attempting to work was pointless. He wouldn't finish anything if he was so distracted. He sorely wanted to go back to his domicile and just recharge, but something had changed during their short days together. Something felt right about being with the femme. The way her body fit his embrace when he held her close as they pretended to recharge. The subtle brightening of her optics when he spoke her name. The gentle, teasing laughter in her voice as they talked.

Something had definitely changed, and he only wished he knew what. He let a sigh of hot air out of his exhaust system as he dropped his face into his hands. He had to sort his emotions. He needed to think this through, and then, if nothing else worked, he could always go to Ironhide for advice.

Elita had been cold at first, almost unapproachable. Sly. Untrustworthy. Cunning. He paused. She was still all of those things, for she was a femme at spark, but she never treated him that way in the privacy of his quarters. Was her aloof, standoffish personality just an act? And if it was, why would she do that to herself? Why would she deny herself the chance to love and to be loved in return? It didn't even need to be romantic love - he himself would have liked to have someone he could share his burden with.

All of his previous relationships with femmes and other mechs were simply for pleasure. He had never had a long term relationship before, especially since his instatement as Prime. Not a single suitor had lasted more than a vorn, and though he had only been interfacing with Elita for only a few short stellar cycles, they had been bantering and flirting for more than a hundred vorns. If they had been normal, every day 'Bots, they probably would have become partners. But it was not in their futures.

He was a Commander, she was a Commander. He was a mech, she was a femme. A relationship, no matter how platonic, would never work between them. Optimus let another sigh of air escape his systems. A solid relationship that lasted for many vorns and also resulted in a few dozen sparklings would make him very happy. He vaguely wondered what the shell for their sparkling was going to look like. If it was a femme, he wanted her to look like her carrier. If it was a mech, he wanted the sparkling to be blue, or maybe red. Perhaps with chrome as it grew older.

His door opened. Something heavy settled into a chair before him.

"What's wrong with ya, Prime?"

Ironhide's familiar voice carried through the still air. He had let himself in when Optimus had failed to answer his query within a reasonable amount of time. Optimus would have jerked in his seat if he was not used to being interrupted at all hours of the day.

"I fear that my temporary alliance with Elita One was most unwise, my friend," Optimus said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that he had been imagining a life with Elita One as the carrier of his sparklings. He shivered slightly. Even if he only thought about it, the idea seemed very strange and foreign to him. Ironhide hummed softly, his intelligent blue optics filled with understanding.

"What do ya mean?" Ironhide asked, clasping his hands behind his head. The seat groaned in protest.

"I mean that she has evoked emotions from me that I have rarely felt before," Optimus responded, "and I am slightly uncomfortable with it."

"Optimus, ya know better," Ironhide warned quietly, "she is a femme. A traitor in Autobot colors. If ya can't keep yer spark and interface appliance separated, then ya best send her on her way and forget about tha flier. We can always talk ta Silverbolt – "

Prime shook his head quickly.

"No, it is nothing like that, Ironhide," Optimus assured quickly, "nothing like that at all. I am simply…intrigued. I will not lie to you, Ironhide – she is my equal in every way. In these past few days, I have come to understand that she is more than just a traitorous femme – she is intelligent, and she will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of the species. She is…dangerous. And I find that exhilarating."

"Ah see," Ironhide responded, thinking carefully. He wasn't just Prime's bodyguard – he was his teacher, his friend, and his closest companion. In some way, he was the brother that Megatron never was. Ironhide had been the one present when Optimus was saying his first words, taking his first steps, picking up his first weapon. Ironhide had been the one present when Optimus was selected to become Prime. And Ironhide had been the one to guide Optimus through Megatron's betrayal.

"Femmes are like that," Ironhide said bluntly, "and she's probably just tryin' ta tease ya, Optimus." He paused, wishing that he didn't have to dash his young friend's hopes. But it was for the best – the Autobots needed Optimus at his best if they were to win this war. He couldn't afford to be distracted, even if there was the mere possibility that they were bondmates – No. Ironhide refused to compute the thought. It was archaic, and too dangerous in a time of war. Especially since he knew what type of femme Elita was. She would end up hurting Optimus in the worst way possible. Ironhide refused to let his friend go through that type of pain.

"You are right, Ironhide. Your guidance has cleared my thoughts," Optimus said, giving his friend a grateful smile. Ironhide nodded, still slightly uncomfortable with where the discussion had been.

"An what about tha spark? What is she carryin'?" Ironhide asked, slightly stung that Optimus hadn't told him.

"How do you know?"Optimus asked curiously, wondering if Ratchet had broken his oath and gone behind his back. Ironhide snorted.

"Ratchet didn't say a word to me, Prime. You know he'd never do anythin' like that," Ironhide drawled out, "he came outta yer apartment with a smile on his face plates."

"Ah. I see. Ratchet believes that she will bear a mech," Optimus said, shrugging. Ironhide nodded wisely, noting how Optimus's optics had alighted with hope and joy. Ironhide steeled himself for what he had to do.

"When he's been sparked, I'll be settin' up his schedule," Ironhide said briskly, "and Magnus and I will be deciding his function." Optimus nodded, slightly disappointed with Ironhide's decision.

"What about his education?" Optimus asked, hoping with his entire spark that he would be able to interact with his sparkling. Ironhide set his jaw.

"He'll be integrated with all of the other sparklins," Ironhide said, "and before you ask, Optimus, you will not be raising him. This ain't the time to be raisin' a family."

A jolt of sadness shot through Optimus when Ironhide spoke. He had never been sure about raising a family of his own, but now that he looked at the prospect, it didn't look as frightening...especially if it meant that Elita would be by his side for a little while longer. For a moment, he wallowed in his sorrow, but then he realized that Ironhide's actions were probably the wisest. If the sparkling was raised from birth to know how to defend himself, he would be able to fight and defend himself better than anyone else in the army. He would be better prepared for the horrors of war. A sparkling with Optimus and Elita One as his co-creators would have the highest chance of survival.

And Optimus could try to be a proper father once it was all over.

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter: Litahatchee, Jovianokamigirl, Phoenix13, and flamingmarsh. _

_Your feedback means a lot to me!  
_


	4. Passion

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

**Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

**Pairings:** Mainly Optimus Prime x Elita One, mentions of Megatron x Blackarachnia, some Ironhide and Chromia in later chapters.

**Warnings**: Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been completely revamped, so expect some major changes.

**Rating**: M for spark tactile stimulation.

**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

**Various Author's Notes: **Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies! This fandom needs more Optimus Prime and Elita One.

Posted July 25th, 2009 on my DeviantArt account.

* * *

Almost an entire stellar cycle had passed by since she had learned that she was with spark. Elita had spent the first two orns residing in the Autobot base. Once Ratchet had verified that the spark had permanently integrated into her reproductive chamber, he had allowed her to travel back to her base. Even then, he had expressly forbid her from shutting down her radio permanently. She had to check in with him every half-orn or else. She had had the brilliant idea of mouthing off to him, and he had threatened to make her stay indefinite by banning her from traveling.

Elita smiled slightly to herself. If Ratchet had been a female, Elita would have welcomed him with open arms. The sudden mental image of a smaller but curvier version of Ratchet throwing wrenches at anyone who entered the medical bay made Elita laugh for a very long time. Once her laughter died down, the repressive silence came rushing back at full force. Elita sighed and picked at the worn edges of her work planner. Finding out about their creation should have resulted in a joyous celebration and a night of passion. They shouldn't have parted so abruptly.

Ironhide had awoken her very early the next morning. After the initial shock of seeing the massive mech standing just beside her had worn off, she opened her mouth to retort. Ironhide shook his head in response.

"_It hurts to do this Elita, but you must leave. It'll be easier fer you and Prime this way."_

His voice had been so warm and gentle even as he spoke to her.

Oh, she had wanted so desperately to kick the mech away before curling back up against Prime, but he had not let her. A firm - but entirely gentle - hand around her wrist made her rethink her thought process. Once her mental capabilities were running at full force, she could see why Ironhide wanted her to leave without saying goodbye.

Her reality had come crashing down around her, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. Her fantasies were nothing but that – fantasies. She and the Prime could _never _be together. A mech and femme did not belong together. They were like water and oil. They could mix for the briefest of moments before they had to separate back to their niches. They could touch. They could long for more.

But they could never be.

Ironhide's gaze had hardened when she wiped her face of emotion. Goodbyes were messy. Goodbyes often implied that there was actually a relationship to sever.

Ironhide _knew_. He knew that they had grown far too attached to be considered business only. She had hesitated for only an astrosecond, but Ironhide had noticed.

"_Elita…please don't make this more difficult than it has ta be."_

She had only trailed her fingertips down the side of Optimus's face before nodding up at Ironhide in affirmation. With that, he had led her out of Prime's quarters and to the new ones she had been given. Ratchet had been waiting for her. He and Ironhide had exchanged a most peculiar look, but she had not noticed. She merely curled up on the berth and engaged her recharge sequence.

Elita would never have mentioned it to anyone, not even under the pain of torture and deactivation, but she had tried to see him one last time before departing for her base. Ironhide, with his wise processor, had instinctively known. He had turned her away with a gentle touch to the cheek plate and a kind dismissal. She had been angry with Ironhide for the longest time after that. She blamed him for their separation. She blamed him for not being able to say goodbye properly.

Now, she could not thank the Stars enough for his kindness.

Ever since she and Optimus had joined sparks, she could not get him out of her processor. Their memories haunted her. His hands, those powerful tools of his that had killed countless Decepticons, had stroked her so intimately and tenderly, cherishing and worshiping her like a rare work of art. He had known her in ways that other mechs could only dream of. They had been One for a split second in time, and she yearned for more than just a tantalizing, frustrating taste of their paradise. His spark felt right to her. He made her feel sheltered and protected for the first time in her life.

She couldn't refuel.

She couldn't recharge.

She couldn't _function_.

Elita threw her datapad down onto the desk before gripping the arms of the chair, her sharp fingertips digging into the soft metal. She stared at the surface, anger rising within her spark. How had she become so weak? So attached to a solitary being – a mech, no less? She briefly wondered what her ancestors would say at the atrocities she was committing.

_Times have changed. War has changed all that we know. Perhaps…perhaps it wouldn't be so strange, _she thought to herself. Would anyone support the radical idea of bonding with a male? She let out an inelegant, sharp bark of laughter. She was deluding herself. No sane mech, femme, or flier would _ever _consider a steady relationship with someone outside of their gender.

Then again, she _was _known for her revolutionary methods of thinking. She was powerful enough to ensure undying loyalty from her femmes. They wouldn't question her methods unless it endangered their way of life. She decided to trust only her closest advisors first.

Chromia certainly wouldn't approve of anything more than just business. Elita pushed her energon cube away. Her need for fuel dissipated almost immediately when she thought of Chromia. The light blue femme would not hesitate to put Elita in her place the second she stepped out of line. Elita was light years past the thin line that crossed lust and the beginnings of – dare she think it? – _love_. She knew she was heading into dangerous territory by wanting to chance a relationship with Optimus. Even if he wanted her the way she wanted him, their relationship would endanger her femmes. She had to be rational. One mech was not worth the loyalty and love she shared with her femmes. Even then, her processor insisted on betraying her.

She could see the picture clearly in her processor. She and Optimus would make a fine set of creators. _If only we were given the chance_, her processor wept bitterly, _if only there was no infernal war to deal with._ Elita could see her future self holding hands with Optimus as a half-dozen tiny sparklings played in a pen before them. She could see the subtle, happy glow about his optics as he surveyed his little family and the smile quirking up the side of his lip components as he held her close and poured his pride into their bond. Elita's spark ached, and then it became too much for her to bear. Soft, grinding clicks erupted from her vocalizer.

_Optimus…_

It was only fitting that Chromia decided to walk into her office at that moment.

The blue femme was staring at a datapad, mumbling quietly as she read through the various reports. Elita straightened up immediately, trying to still her quaking frame, but Chromia immediately noticed the defeat in her optics. Chromia stopped and slowly walked towards her; her footsteps were slow and cautious.

"Elita?" she asked, sounding unsure. Elita gave Chromia a glare, tightening her grip on her datapad. Elita very calmly set her work down.

"Have you not heard of announcing your presence before entering?" she asked angrily. Chromia arched an optic ridge. One hand rose and anchored itself to her hip in a slight display of defiance. Elita hardened her gaze. She was in no mood to deal with Chromia's insubordination at the moment. Not with her emotions swaying her rational though process.

"Is there something we need to talk about?" Chromia asked coolly, her gaze firm and hard. Elita's optics narrowed at her insolence.

"No, Lieutenant," Elita said, allowing her voice to develop an edge. Chromia very nearly snapped back at her Commander, but the rapid darkening of Elita's mood stopped her in her tracks.

Chromia knew when she could talk back to Elita, and when she could not. Elita was very laid back compared to the previous Femme Commanders. As long as they minded their manners and respected her, Elita would allow them to do almost whatever they pleased. However, if they didn't behave, Elita wouldn't hesitate to physically remind them of their place.

"Very well, _Commander_," Chromia snapped back, tossing the datapad onto her desk, "if you need me, I shall be in my quarters." Chromia could not help but to allow the sarcasm to mar her statement. Elita flung the datapad back at Chromia, but she was a mere astrosecond too late. The datapad hit the door hard, leaving a small dent behind as it fell to the floor. It sparked pitifully for a moment. Elita rubbed her face plates wearily.

The closer her sparkling's due date came, the higher strung her emotions became, making her irritable and volatile. Elita managed to drag her head up out of her hands. The four walls surrounding her suddenly became suffocating, and she got to her feet. Confinement and Elita did not go well together.

Elita stalked out of her office, slamming the door behind her as hard as she possibly could. Mechs and femmes parted as she stalked down the corridors. Then, as she turned a corner, she slammed into something hard. Something vaguely familiar.

"Watch where you are going," she snapped viciously. A familiar blue hand settled on her shoulder, and she suddenly went silent. Her spark leapt in its casing as fuel tanks fluttered nervously. Elita's optics traveled along the endless lines of his arm before finally settling on his face plates. Their optics met. Something clenched within her as the moments dragged by.

"Elita?" Optimus asked. He dismissed Prowl and Jazz with a brief nod. The mechs left immediately. They were under the guise that Optimus was going to try and defuse the femme. So was Elita, but he had very different ventures in mind.

He firmly and gently guided her into a nearby office. She blinked, staring around the room. Then she realized that his hands were starting to drift over her frame. Elita opened her mouth to tell him off, but she gasped when his mouth covered hers. She groaned for a moment, fighting her temptation hard for only a few moments, but then she gave in. Neither one noticed that the door had been left slightly ajar.

Optimus and Elita had their chest plates open before they could even grope around for the desk, so he lifted her up into the air. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he pressed her back into the wall.

Elita whimpered softly. If anyone found out, they'd be lucky to be tried in court for fraternization.

He locked his knee joints, and pressed his chest plate against Elita's. He began to skim his fingers over her receptive ports, drawing forth the occasional spark of electricity. Elita returned the sentiment, echoing his soft moans and crying out his designation. His hand fumbled against the wall for a moment, and he flipped on the sound dampeners. They could not afford to let anyone hear their liaison. The femme gasped as his finger slipped beneath her armor and against her protoform. He nearly stopped to see if he had harmed her, but the cry that erupted from her vocalizers quashed any notion of accidental damage. Optimus gently mouthed one of her fuel lines, stroking her long frame gently. Elita flexed her powerful legs around him, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders. It had been too long for both of them.

He nipped the side of her neck gently before returning to his work. Elita grit her denta and shuttered her optics. She couldn't short her vocalizer again. Ratchet would ask questions, questions she wasn't ready to answer yet. Optimus shifted her in his arms as he braced them against the wall. Elita recognized the subtle tremors shooting through his arms. The mech was about to overload. She was not far behind him. Optimus gently rubbed her hip.

Elita stiffened. She was so close so, so _close_ to overload. Optimus sensed her need and redoubled his efforts. Elita cried out his name shamelessly, pleading and begging for overload. Optimus brushed his fingers over her ports again, and his circuits seized as his overload washed through him. Elita's high pitched shriek was barely audible over the roar of his audios. He sagged against the femme in his arms, further pressing her into the wall. Their intakes panted harshly as they carefully appraised one another. Once that he saw that she wasn't going to run away from him, he tightened the grip he had on her.

This time, Elita couldn't bring herself to give a frag about the consequences of their actions.


	5. Devastation

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

**Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

**Pairings:** Mainly Optimus Prime x Elita One, mentions of Megatron x Blackarachnia, some Ironhide and Chromia in later chapters.

**Warnings**: Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been completely revamped, so expect some major changes.

**Rating**: M for character death.

**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

**Various Author's Notes: **Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies! This fandom needs more Optimus Prime and Elita One.

Posted July 27th, 2009 on my DeviantArt account.

* * *

…_and in spite of our best efforts, there were no survivors found in sector E-4…_

Her femmes never stood a chance. Harsh lights buzzed overhead, adding to the din from the adjacent medical center.

…_the bodies of sixteen adults and nineteen juveniles were found in sector E-5..._

Rose-red hands clenched around a light blue datapad. The metal buckled easily under the pressure.

…_and there were no survivors in the nursery and birthing center. The protoforms in the incubation stages were terminated instantaneously…_

The number of deceased rose with each new report from the Autobot scouts. Elita scanned the pile of unread datapads by her elbow. For each one she read, three more replaced it.

…_the remains of the explosive device appear to be Decepticon in origin; tests will need to be conducted. Preliminary scans indicate intricate complexity. The weapon was specially designed for cave environments…_

_Of course it was Decepticon in origin_, Elita thought bitterly, as she gazed around the medical bay. Chief Medical Officer Ratchet and First Aid were busily flitting from table to table, checking the many welds and injuries of the surviving femmes. Doing whatever it took to keep the last few remaining females alive.

_How did he know where to strike?_ The femme hideout schematics had been lost to the ages. There were portions of their home that even she had not explored before. The passageways leading underground led to a massive labyrinth that not even the best trackers could hope to penetrate, yet Megatron had infiltrated their base in only a few cycles?

Someone had turned traitor. One of her femmes had betrayed them all.

Elita gazed down at the rough sketches provided from the scouts, ignoring the red dots that indicated a casualty. There were fourteen ultra massive pillars that bore the crushing weight of the earth above the main command center. Somehow, Megatron had managed to sneak drones into their base of operations. The blasts weakened the pillars until the first one fell. Then the second. Then the third.

It was like a domino effect. As each pillar fell, the adjacent tunnels and caverns had caved in. It happened so quickly that the femmes could not activate their distress signals. The devastating effects did not end with the command center and the storage rooms. The nursery had been the last to fall. The femmes already knew that the integrity and safety of their home had been compromised. Decepticon patrols gunned them down as they evacuated through the escape tunnels. The femmes had fought viciously to protect their precious cargo, but in the end, it was in vain.

..._Mirage also has returned with grim news. There appear to be no surviving Decepticon females. No less than one hundred corpses have recently appeared in front of the Decepticon fortress…_

Her only consolation was that they had not taken prisoners. Their deaths had been relatively quick and painless. Only a handful of females were not accounted for – all Decepticon. However, she did not worry for them- Blackarachnia and her command staff had an uncanny ability to survive in even the most desolate of situations. Knowing Blackarachnia, she was probably taking her anger out on an unfortunate Decepticon patrol. Elita let a small smile form on her face.

Elita read over the rest of the scout's reports. She went from white-hot rage to an icy-cold, her spark desperate for vengeance. Two hundred and eighty three femmes and sixty two sparklings had lost their lives in the blink of an optic. Elita only knew of eight Autobot survivors. Her escorts.

Elita's hands balled into fists, her vents beginning to steam as the anger continued to mount - if only she had given orders an orn sooner…her femmes and their precious little ones might still be alive. The only solace she could take was that their deaths were relatively fast and painless. They had died without knowing what had happened.

Chromia sat down beside Elita, shakily wrapping her arms around Elita's waist. Elita automatically returned the gesture, murmuring something soft and comforting into her friend's audio receptor. Firestar, Moonracer, and Airrazor squeezed themselves into the seat around Elita and Chromia. When there was no more space, Beta and Glyph sat on the floor beside Elita. They stared at nothing in particular, their faces blank and gaunt. They were just coming out of their sub-adult stages. _This is the point in their lives were they are most dependent on their mother for guidance,_ Elita thought to herself grimly.

Elita's optics flicked up at the soft whimper from the surgical bay. Only one little youngling femme had survived the massacre. Somehow, she ended up with an Autobot patrol three thousand kilometers away from the devastation. Elita's spark clenched in sorrow as the little femme thrashed in the throes of a nightmare. Another high pitched whimper escaped her vocalizer. She was crying for her mother and sisters.

Elita rested her hand on top of Glyph's head. She lost herself in her thoughts.

Megatron was a power hungry tyrant. She also knew that he was incredibly intelligent. He had effectively doomed their species to extinction. Though they rarely bonded outside of their genders, their occasional liaisons kept their lines diversified. If only mechs could breed with one another, they would inbreed until their programming lines collapsed.

She sighed and pulled her hand into her lap. Somehow, she could not help but to feel that it was her fault that her femmes were gone. Megatron had targeted her femmes because he could. Because he wanted to show her that no matter how strong she was, or how well she defended her hideouts, that he could still overpower her. If he couldn't access her body, he would take what she held dear. He thought he could break her.

_He is wrong_, Elita snarled to herself as she looked around what remained of her 'family'. The five femmes were huddled around her, lost without the rest of their companions. Elita wanted to cry and scream and curse up at Primus for allowing such a tragedy, but she needed to be strong. Without her, her remaining femmes would succumb to their guilt and grief. She needed to be their strength, their guidance.

And perhaps, in a few thousand vorns, she would give her femmes the carnal pleasure of rending those who were responsible into subatomic particles.

Chromia began to tremble. Elita stroked her back plates gently. Chromia herself had lost two daughters in the attack. She held the mourning femme closer, whispering quiet assurances into her audio receptor. They would rebuild. They would remake the families they had lost. They would eventually learn to move on. But they would never forget what Megatron and Starscream had done to them. Those who lived by violence would eventually end in violence. A soft beep from an incoming message from Ultra Magnus drew her from her thoughts. They had finished moving the bodies to their final resting places.

They were taken back to the caves where molten metal boiled up from the cracks in the surface of the planet. All alloys to build their frames came from the planet itself, and it was only fitting that they were returned to their birthplace. Elita shook as her anger began to recede. It felt like she had just battled an entire platoon of Decepticons. She felt weak and very nauseated, but she swallowed her discomfort to guide her femmes through their mourning.

_Until all are One_, she breathed to herself, shuttering her optics in a last prayer for the dead.

Elita swore that she would make Megatron and Starscream pay. She was not able to attack them directly, but she was perfectly content to bide her time until she could make them both suffer for the precious lives they had taken. And even in the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, she would ensure that Megatron would fear her from now until the end of eternity.

There was a second beep from her message inbox. Optimus and his mechs were returning. Elita and Chromia leapt to their feet. The others followed closely at their heels. Ratchet was preparing in the surgical bay, selecting the tools that he would need. Ratchet's calm demeanor did nothing to calm Elita's anxiety. His interns began to wheel in surgical tables laden with supplies. Elita began to pace in the small hallway between the recovery ward and the surgical bay. Ratchet watched her, his sharp, intense gaze softening as she grew more agitated.

"What's going on?" Elita asked tersely, wringing her hands together worriedly. Ratchet began to bark out orders as the transport vessel drew nearer. In that instant, the medical bay burst into a flurry of organized chaos. Two small interns gently pushed past Elita as they hurried into one of the storage rooms. She watched them, her intakes hitching with worry.

"Survivors from the second base have been found," Ratchet responded flatly, barely glancing over his shoulder, "and if you have no medical experience, you do not belong here. Go and rest." Elita's spark leapt into her throat. The other femmes obeyed without question, which surprised him. Elita smirked slightly at the shock evident on his face plates. He had earned their respect and trust, which was not something given lightly by one of her femmes.

Elita sent the others ahead. She stayed behind to watch over the surgeries. The youngling was gently brought out of recharge by First Aid. The young mech knelt beside the low berth, his hands held out to her. Kalis, who hadn't earned her adult name yet, crawled towards him after a few moments of hesitation. He tucked a thermal blanket around her and gave her the toy turbofox she had dropped on the floor. Then he picked her up, whispering a gentle assurance into her audio receptor. Elita's spark warmed when Kalis buried her face into First Aid's neck.

"We will need her table," First Aid said quietly, shifting Kalis into Elita's arms. Elita nodded and watched as First Aid tenderly stroked the top of her head. Then, he politely excused himself. Kalis glanced up at Elita with worried amber optics. She clutched the fox a bit more tightly when Elita made her way into the recovery bay. Most of the femmes were doubled up in the recovery berths. Some had gone into recharge in their seats. However, Chromia was pressed up against the window, her optics dark and empty. Elita decided to let Chromia grieve privately. The femme would need time to come to terms with her losses.

Elita made her way over to Airrazor, who had borne the least serious injuries of the femmes. She was covered in scrapes and gashes, and her left hand had been removed, but she was going to recover. Airrazor shifted so that Kalis could fit between her and Moonracer.

"My mother is dead, isn't she?" the little femme asked softly. Elita's vents sighed softly as she stood beside the two femmes. She took Airrazor's remaining hand in hers and squeezed softly. The blue and yellow femme wrapped her arm around Kalis.

"Most likely, sweetspark," Airrazor said quietly. She didn't mention that she had watched as the girl's mother had slowly bled out underneath a fallen piece of support beam.

Kalis began to keen quietly, wrapping her arms around Airrazor's waist. Elita watched sadly, wishing that she could comfort the youngling, but the medical bay doors burst open at that moment. Eight mechs, each one cradling a femme in his arms, began to file into the room. Ratchet's keen optics scanned over all eight femmes in less than an astrosecond, and he knew which ones had the highest chance of survival. Two femmes were past saving, and he had them placed along the far wall. He nodded to Elita - they couldn't be alone when they passed on.

Elita hurried over to the femmes and sat between them. Roulette was already too deep in stasis lock to comfort. Elita took the other femme's hands in hers, holding Aquaspark tightly as she tried not to look at her horrific injuries. Her entire lower half had been crushed. A thick, jagged piece of metal had punctured her spark chamber. The blue light rapidly seeped out, and then slowly winked out. Elita knew that her passing had been slow, and her vow to make Megatron suffer grew even stronger. Elita carefully wiped away a smudge of grime from Aquaspark's beautiful face. She repeated the process for Roulette, her hands beginning to shake as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

The emotions were too much for Elita to handle. She broke down as she cradled Roulette's limp, lifeless form in her arms, pressing their foreheads together. She had failed her family. She had failed them all.

One of the interns tactfully drew a screen around her.

* * *

Thank you to: flamingmarsh, jovianokamigirl, plenoptic, and phoenix13 for the reviews for the previous chapter!


	6. Break

**Main characters**: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

**Universe**: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

**Pairings:** Mainly Optimus Prime x Elita One, mentions of Megatron x Blackarachnia, some Ironhide and Chromia in later chapters.

**Warnings**: Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been completely revamped, so expect some major changes.

**Rating**: M for dark, dark themes.

**Synopsis**: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

**Various Author's Notes: **Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies! This fandom needs more Optimus Prime and Elita One.

This is an extra snippet that was never posted on Deviant Art. Also, this is much darker and more morbid than I usually write, so please don't read if you are triggered by death.

* * *

_"You're in the midst of a war: a battle between the limits of a crowd seeking the surrender of your dreams, and the power of your true vision to create and contribute. It is a fight between those who will tell you what you cannot do, and that part of you that knows / and has always known / that we are more than our environment; and that a dream, backed by an unrelenting will to attain it, is truly a reality with an imminent arrival."_

- Anthony Robbins

* * *

In the end, after joors of surgery, Ratchet had only been able to keep three of the survivors anchored to the plane of the living. He turned haunted optics toward the makeshift recovery area set up in the corner of the medical bay. Arcee, Strika, and Thunderblast were the only ones still living, and even then, Strika's condition was still critical. Ratchet cycled his vents. He was so numb that he was running on automatic; his hands moved without his notice, gathering and cleaning tools quickly and deftly. The others were simply too damaged to repair, even for someone of his skill.

He had given them each a heavy dose of numbing agent to ease their passing. He couldn't save them, but he would be damned if they would suffer another moment of agony while under his care. He finished rinsing and drying a box of clamps. He dropped them onto the counter with a noisy clatter; organization could wait until later. Until he'd had a cube of energon and a few moments of rest, he was of no use to the staff or patients. Ratchet quietly made his way past the screen that hid Elita One from the world. He scanned her. His shoulders sagged. How could he have not seen how tired she was?

She was deep in recharge. He carefully lifted her out of the chair. He observed her quietly for a moment before walking towards the corner where he had left the other femmes. Elita One was quite beautiful for someone as young as she. She was seductive and coy when she was awake, but now that she was in recharge, he could see just how vulnerable she was underneath that layer of confidence. Ratchet scanned her a second time. Elita's systems were so quiet that he could barely hear them, even with his audio receptors up as high as they would go. He carefully stepped into the room, his optics adjusting to the darkness automatically.

Almost instantly, Arcee, Moonracer, and Firestar vacated the narrow couch. He walked towards them, mindful of the precious cargo in his arms. He knelt beside the couch and carefully slid Elita onto the surface, taking care to arrange her comfortably. He stroked the side of her face, a sorrowed sigh escaping his vocalizer.

"You should go and get some rest," Chromia said quietly, placing her hand on Ratchet's shoulder.

"As should you, Chromia," Ratchet responded just as quietly. His voice held none of its usual sarcasm. He scanned Chromia before pressing an energon cube into her hands.

"Thanks," she said, sinking onto the floor beside Elita. The silver-blue femme rested her head against the cushion as she played with the rim of the cube.

"Will you be alright?" Ratchet offered tentatively. Chromia nodded slowly, turning grey optics up at him.

"As long as we're together," Chromia said, as Firestar and Moonracer sat down on either side of her. Ratchet nodded, relief taking the place of his concern. He should have known better than to underestimate the strength this particular group had. As long as they had Elita One, they would remain strong in the face of any challenge.

"Come and get me when she comes out of recharge," he said to no one in particular as he turned around. When he came to the door, he stopped and glanced back at the group of femmes. He observed them quietly, watching as the tightly knit group seamlessly tended to one another. Ratchet shuffled out of the room and into his office. He sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

His career as a physician was rewarding, but at times, he felt like it wasn't worth the pain, the suffering, and the night cycles he spent awake because he couldn't block out the screams of agony. He stared down at his crimson fingers, watching them furl and unfurl as though he was seeing them for the first time. There were days where he wondered if he had made the right choice in becoming a physician. For every life he saved, ten slipped through his fingers.

5,943.

Over five thousand mechs had perished. Some had been his friends – he had watched his closest companion bleed out on his table, and there was nothing he could have done. Yet he still blamed himself for their deaths. Some had been Decepticons – who was he to decide which life was worth more? Some had been innocents – sparklings, dozens of innocent, newly sparked infants and their caretakers, gunned down as they tried to evacuate to safety. Hundreds upon thousands of Neutrals, beaten, enslaved, and then finally slaughtered, all because of their lack of alliance.

_5,943._

Ratchet felt distinctly ill as memories began to break down the mental barriers he had built to protect himself. He clearly remembered each and every one of his patients, even though some he could not name. He remembered the cheerful laughter and the screaming, oh, the _screaming_. The worst part was when they stopped. The haunting silence afterward was enough to keep him awake for days. Ratchet shuddered and tried to keep what little fuel he'd taken in from being purged. He felt a heavy pain in his spark as the memories finally broke through, swirling together into a dizzying mess that swept him away.

_- Jazz was kneeling on the ground. Both of his optics were shattered and energon poured out of his wounds as his Decepticon captors punched him and kicked him. A deactivated femme curled up on her side, her battered and singed body protecting the youngling Ratchet would soon know as Bluestreak. Countless bodies lined up on the dirty, energon-soaked floor, all grey with deactivation, waiting silently to be transported to the caverns where they would be laid to rest, once and for all – _

A strong arm around his shoulders broke him from his thoughts. He blindly reached out and pulled the mech into a tight embrace, his entire body shaking.

"Stay with me, Ratch." Ironhide's deep voice reverberated through the quiet office. Ratchet clung to Ironhide, a full-body tremor occasionally wracking his frame. Ironhide kept talking, as though he knew Ratchet needed a way to escape his mind.

"Talk to me, Ratchet."

Ratchet shoved Ironhide away and flung himself out of his chair, landing heavily on his hands and knees as he finally lost the battle with his fuel tank. Ratchet purged his fuel, one hand pressed against his abdomen as though it would stop the automatic response. For a few breems, he remained on his knees, purging occasionally as Ironhide watched him. When no more fuel came up, Ironhide gently lifted Ratchet back into his seat.

"You alright?" Ironhide asked. To any other mech, the question might have sounded stupid and unnecessary, but Ratchet nodded slowly. He accepted the rag Ironhide held out. With trembling fingers, he wiped his face clean.

"I can't do this anymore, Ironhide," Ratchet said, "I don't deserve this emblem."

He ripped the medic's emblem from his shoulder and threw it down onto the desk. There was only silence for a few moments before Ironhide slowly leaned forward and picked up the emblem.

"Yer the only reason some of us are still walkin' around," Ironhide said quietly, turning the emblem over and over in his hands.

"And what about the ones I lost, Ironhide? What about them?" Ratchet asked bitterly. He began to rummage through his desk drawers.

"Ya can't save them all, Ratchet. They died fighting to protect our home, just like I would."

Ratchet slammed a drawer open. Datapads clattered to the floor as he emptied it. Ratchet found a cube of high grade and peeled the top off. Just as he was about to take a drink, Ironhide batted it out of his hands. It clattered to the floor, spilling the iridescent fluid over the tiles.

"What the slag?" Ratchet growled at Ironhide, leveling an intense glare at Ironhide. Ironhide returned it, full force and then some.

"High grade won't fix anything. You and I both know that."

Ratchet sighed and sank back into the chair, weariness replacing the anger in his spark. He rested his face in his hands. Though his body cried out for recharge, his processor was working at full capacity. He couldn't recharge now unless he had enough high grade to short his systems or a dose of tranquilizer. It had been a rather long time since he had last used medication to help him recharge, and that was a slippery slope he did not want to traverse again in his lifetime.

"I can't do this," Ratchet said, "I can't do this anymore."

Ratchet was tempted to shake Ironhide's hand from his shoulder, but he couldn't even muster up the will to do so.

"Ratchet, you've saved my life more times than I can count," Ironhide said, "we can't do this without you." Ratchet understood Ironhide's cryptic statement. There were plenty of other medics out there, but they did not have the will and strength to continue on like he had done through the vorns. Most couldn't handle the mental strain that it put on their processors and they quit. A handful self-deactivated. Even fewer could last more than a dozen vorns. He had the knowledge and ability to react to the most desolate of situations. The Autobots would truly be slagged if he gave up now.

"I didn't know you could count without using your fingers," Ratchet quipped. Ironhide chuckled and slapped Ratchet's shoulder, making him wince at the sheer force. When Ratchet finally stood up, Ironhide pressed his emblem back into his hands.

"You'll need this," Ironhide said. When Ratchet reapplied it to his shoulder, Ironhide pushed him towards the staff rooms, "go get some recharge. I'll come and get you in a joor."

"I can't recharge for an entire joor – what if Elita wakes up? She needs – "

"Go. Recharge. Now. Before I make you."

Ratchet glowered at his friend but obediently retreated into the welcoming darkness of the staff rooms. Ratchet collapsed onto the narrow surface. In minutes, he was deep in recharge.

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_Thanks to plenoptic, jovianokamigirl, and flamingmarsh for the reviews!______  
_


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